It‘s the spookiest time of year, and with Halloween just around the corner, I invite you to enjoy this story of mine (originally published in American Heartland Magazine in September). This piece explores three of my favorite cryptids native to the Midwest, offering a glimpse into the more mysterious aspects of this region.

Strictly speaking, a cryptid is not a monster. Monsters belong squarely in the realm of fiction; they are oft-disturbing, twisted reflections of our own dread, lurking in the pages of horror novels and haunting the silver screen. In contrast, a cryptid occupies a slightly more plausible space. These are creatures whose existence is suggested, yet have not been (or can not be) proven. Think the Loch Ness Monster, Bigfoot, El Chupacabra. 

Such beasts are said to inhabit every corner of this nation, mysterious or otherwise: Atlantic to Pacific; Texas to Michigan; mountains to cornfields. Of course, with its open prairies, deep forests, and murky waters, the Heartland is no exception. From its constituent environments have emerged some of the most peculiar cryptids around, at least for those inclined to believe in such ideas. And while I generally do not share that inclination, I do find these stories—these things—endlessly fascinating and tremendously entertaining. Thus, here are a few of my favorites. 

The Van Meter Visitor 

Let’s start with a classic from Iowa: the Van Meter Visitor. This story begins, as they so often do, rather abruptly. While driving into town at 1 a.m., on the night of September 29, 1903, a man by the name of U.G. Griffith spied something unusual. Atop one of Van Meter’s low-slung brick buildings, a spotlight beamed with great intensity. At first, the light seemed to be electrical in origin to the man, but then it did something confounding—it rose up, sailed through the air, and then came to rest on another rooftop. Griffith, unsurprisingly, was perplexed by what he had seen and relayed this odd occurrence to the townspeople the next morning. Nobody believed him then, but they soon would. 

The next night, A.C. Olcott, one of the town doctors, was roused from his slumber by a dazzling ray of light shining through his office window (he apparently slept in his office). One can only speculate as to what the physician thought he would find when he ran outside, shotgun in hand, but they can be sure it was not this: Before him loomed a half-man, half beast with bat-like wings. Protruding from its forehead was a blunt appendage from which the stunning light radiated—quite evidently the source of the flying light Griffith had seen the night prior. For a moment, Olcott was petrified, but he quickly gathered his wits, raised up his shotgun, and blasted the horrifying creature; this seemingly had no effect other than causing it to flee. 

Over the following days and nights, a heavy blanket of abject panic would settle over the town as its citizens continued to have run-ins with the winged menace. Notably, a bank clerk and another doctor also came face-to-face with the fearsome thing, both of whom attempted to fill the beast with lead just as Olcott had (again, to no effect). Finally, after more than a week of sleepless nights, the climactic end of this bizarre episode came about after strange noises were heard echoing forth from an abandoned mineshaft near the town. An investigative party was gathered up and deployed to find its author. There, they discovered the Van Meter Visitor emerging from the dark maw of the Earth. Only, it wasn’t alone this time: closely in tow was a smaller brute—presumably its offspring. The party then opened fire, driving them away for what they assuredly hoped would be the last time. But, later that night, the two creatures were witnessed disappearing back down the mineshaft, never to be seen again. 

The Enfield Horror 

The evening of April 25, 1973, was a windy one in Enfield, Illinois. At around 10:00 p.m. that night, fifty-year-old Henry McDaniel—a retired veteran and antique salesman—heard a scratching at his door. Thinking it may be a bear, McDaniel went to investigate with a gun and a flashlight. And while a bear in Illinois would have been a strange sight, it would not be completely unheard of. However, what Mr. McDaniel found was something far stranger and immeasurably more shocking. There, nearly motionless in his moonlit yard, was a squat, three-legged creature with ashen skin/fur and large retroreflective eyes. McDaniel, as any of us might, took aim and—BANG—fired at the beast, which let out a sharp hiss before bolting into the thick brush nearby. According to McDaniel, it covered some fifty feet in just three bounds before he lost sight of it near the railway embankment behind his home. Disturbed by this encounter, the old vet called upon authorities to come and investigate. Whatever the thing was, though, had left little evidence to be discovered save for a dog-like track in the dirt, which was described as having six toe pads. 

McDaniel’s fantastical account captured the public’s interest almost immediately. Newspapers churned out articles. Investigations were carried out—one of note being conducted by a radio DJ named Rick Rainbow. Gun-toting “monster hunters” rolled into town ready to track down the odious creature (much to the disapproval of the sheriff, who aptly charged them with “hunting” violations). Naturally, reactions among the Enfield population were mixed: Many mocked McDaniel and labeled him a liar. Others believed that he may have truly seen something unusual, just not what he thought he had. A popular theory then emerged: McDaniel, it was said, had actually misidentified an escaped pet kangaroo. McDaniel refuted this, however, pointing out that he had actually kept a kangaroo as a pet when stationed in Australia during his stint in the Army. So, he was absolutely sure that a marsupial was not what he had seen. 

All of this leads us to one resounding question, then: What did Henry McDaniel see that windy April night, if anything at all? Well, in a later press interview, McDaniel seemed to have an answer, confidently stating, “If they do find it, they will find more than one and they won’t be from this planet, I can tell you that.” 

The Kelly Green Men/Hopkinsville Goblins Case

The date was August 21, 1955. Late that night, two cars screeched to a halt in the parking lot of the Hopkinsville, Kentucky, police station. Out of the vehicles spilled a chaotic heap—five adults and seven children—all excited, and clearly frightened. The officers at the station spoke to one of the men, presumably Cecil ‘Lucky’ Sutton, who told them an unbelievable story. Earlier in the evening, he had witnessed a spaceship hover silently overhead before touching down in a field behind his farmhouse. Shortly thereafter, a group of a dozen four-foot-tall “little men” with large heads departed the craft and began approaching the home. That is when the group gathered what weapons they had—a shotgun for Sutton and a .22 for another man—and engaged the beings in battle. “We need help,” one of the men pleaded to the police, “we’ve been fighting them for nearly four hours.” 

A platoon of law enforcement swiftly descended on the Sutton family farm, including four police officers, five state troopers, three deputy sheriffs, and even four MPs from the nearby Fort Campbell. Unfortunately, despite the overwhelming manpower, no outward indications of these so-called “little men” were found; there were no tracks of them, nor were there any of their spaceship. Seemingly, the only sign of the fierce battle that supposedly took place was a bullet hole in a screen door. The police, with no evidence of encounters of any kind (let alone the third), were left with no other option but to take down reports and return to their stations. This is not where the story ends, though. When officers returned the next morning for a check-in, they found the farmhouse abandoned. Neighbors told the police that the Sutton family and all others inside the home had packed up early in the morning and left after the “little men” returned in the night. 

Over the years, there have been many attempts to explain this otherworldly encounter: overactive imaginations, intoxication (though officers at the time noted all parties seemed to be sober), and the misidentification of great horned owls—a popular theory, as the description and behavior of the “little men” match that of the nocturnal birds of prey. Project Blue Book, an Air Force program from 1952 to 1969 responsible for finding reasonable explanations for UFO sightings, simply labeled this case a hoax and elaborated no further. Still, despite this dismissal, one can’t help but wonder: What really happened on that farm in 1955? 

Honorable Mentions

Believe me, coming to a list of just three cryptids native to the Heartland was no small feat. I sifted through what seemed to be endless reports of Bigfoot types, upright canids, and lake monsters interspersed throughout this region. There were just far too many fascinating tales and unique creatures to fully delve into in just a few thousand words. However, I do feel an obligation to acknowledge a couple more here as honorable mentions. 

• The Big Muddy Monster (Illinois)
  • Similar to the Skunk Ape or Bigfoot.
• The Hodag (Wisconsin)
  • A fearsome critter with “the head of a frog, the grinning face of a giant elephant, thick short legs set off by huge claws, the back of a dinosaur, and a long tail with spears at the end”
• The Green Clawed Beast (Indiana)
  • A cryptid said to inhabit the Ohio River near the town of Evansville, resembling the titular character in The Creature from the Black Lagoon.
• The Pope Lick Monster (Kentucky)
  • A legendary man-goat-sheep hybrid said to live beneath a railroad trestle bridge. It is supposedly responsible for luring trespassers to their deaths in front of trains or by causing them to leap from the bridge itself. 
• The Ozark Howler (Missouri, Arkansas, Texas).
  • A cryptid that resides in the Ozark region of southern Missouri and northern Arkansas, known for its distinctive howl. Its physical description often varies, but usually includes dark, shaggy fur and glowing red eyes.
• Sinkhole Sam (Kansas)
  • A giant worm, or snake-like cryptid, that is said to dwell in a portion of Inman Lake dubbed “The Sinkhole.”
• Pressie (Lake Superior, Michigan)
  • Like the Loch Ness Monster, but in Lake Superior.
• The Oklahoma Octopus (Oklahoma)
  • Does this need explanation? 
• Loveland Frogman (Ohio)
  • A four-foot-tall, humanoid creature with frog-like features that is said to inhabit the rivers of Ohio. 
• The Beast of Bray Road (Wisconsin)
  • Physically, its appearance is said to resemble that of a classic werewolf—six to seven feet tall, hairy body, wolf head. It seems to habitually frequent Bray Road, near the town of Elkhorn.